/i^>^'j-'ii'>v-i?HPr'i'i'i:''";i'r'i:::r.r:j::L;:[:'iJfr,i;i:fy;:i 


GIFT   OF 
MICHAEL  REESE 


SAPPHO,    O 


n  e 


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u  n  d  r  e 


d     Ly 


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Copyright,  1903,  by 
L.  C.  Page  &  Company  (Inc.) 


X^F  this  edition^  five  hundred  copies  were  printed^ 
V^X  from  type  afterwards  distributed^  by  the  T)e 
Vinne  'Press  on  antique  deckle  edge  paper  in  Oc- 
tober, M^CCCCIIL 


No,    117 


H-SE 


THE  ^OBT'RY  OF  Sn<P^HO 

"BF   CHARLES   G.  ©.  ^O'BE^TS 

Tf^  F  all  the  poets  and  all  the  lovers  of  poetry 
I  should  he  asked  to  name  the  most  precious  of 
-^  the  priceless  things  which  time  has  wrung  in 
tribute  from  the  triumphs  of  human  genius^  the  answer 
which  would  rush  to  every  tongue  would  he  ^^  The 
Lost  'Poems  of  Sappho/^  These  we  know  to  have 
been  jewels  of  a  radiance  so  imperishable  that  the 
broken  gleams  of  them  still  dazzle  men^s  eyes^ 
whether  shining  from  the  two  small  brilliants  and  the 
handful  of  star-dust  which  alone  remain  to  us^  or  re- 
flected merely  from  the  adoration  of  those  poets  of 
old  time  who  were  so  fortunate  as  to  witness  their 
full  glory. 

For  about  two  thousand  five  hundred  years  Sappho 
has  held  her  place  as  not  only  the  supreme  poet 
of  her  seXy  hut  the  chief  lyrist  of  all  lyrists.  Every 
one  who  reads  acknowledges  her  fame^  concedes  her 
supremacy  ;    hut  to  all  except  poets  and  Hellenists 


INTRODUCTION 

her  name  is  a  vague  and  uncomprehended  splendour^ 
rising  secure  above  a  persistent  mist  of  misconcep- 
tion. In  spite  of  all  that  is  in  these  days  being 
written  about  Sappho^  it  is  perhaps  not  out  of  place 
now  to  inquire^  in  a  few  words^  into  the  substance  of 
this  supremacy  which  towers  so  unassailably  secure 
from  what  appear  to  be  such  shadowy  foundations, 

First^  we  have  the  witness  of  her  contemporaries, 
Sappho  was  at  the  height  of  her  career  about  six 
centuries  before  Christy  at  a  period  when  lyric  poetry 
was  peculiarly  esteemed  and  cultivated  at  the  centres 
of  Greek  life.  /Imong  the  /Bolic  peoples  of  the 
Isles,  in  particular,  it  had  been  carried  to  a  high 
pitch  of  perfection,  and  its  forms  had  become  the 
subject  of  assiduous  study.  Its  technique  was  exact, 
complex,  extremely  elaborate,  minutely  regulated;  yet 
the  essential  fires  of  sincerity,  spontaneity,  imagina- 
tion, and  passion  were  flaming  with  undiminished 
heat  behind  the  fixed  forms  and  restricted  measures. 
The  very  metropolis  of  this  lyric  realm  was  Mitylene 
of  Lesbos,  where,  amid  the  myrtle  groves  and  temples, 
the  sunlit  silver  of  the  fountains,  the  hyacinth  gardens 
by  a  soft  blue  sea,  beauty  and  Love  in  their  young 

vi 


INTRODUCTION 

warmth  could  fuse  the  most  rigid  forms  to  fluency. 
Here  Sappho  was  the  acknowledged  queen  of  song — 
revered^  studied^  imitated^  served^  adored  by  a  little 
court  of  attendants  and  disciples,  loved  and  hymned 
by  /HcoeuSf  and  acclaimed  by  her  fellowcraftsmen 
throughout  Greece  as  the  wonder  of  her  age.  That 
all  the  tributes  of  her  contemporaries  show  reverence 
not  less  for  her  personality  than  for  her  genius  is 
sufficient  answer  to  the  calumnies  with  which  the 
ribald  jesters  of  that  later  period,  the  corrupt  and 
shameless  writers  of  /Ithenian  comedy,  strove  to 
defile  her  fame.  It  is  sufficient,  also,  to  warrant 
our  regarding  the  picturesque  but  scarcely  dignified 
story  of  her  vain  pursuit  of  'Phaon  and  her  frenzied 
leap  from  the  Cliff  of  Leucas  as  nothing  more  than 
a  poetic  myth,  reminiscent,  perhaps,  of  the  myth  of 
/Jphrodite  and  Jldonis  —  who  is,  indeed,  called 
Phaon  in  some  versions.  The  story  is  further  dis- 
credited by  the  fact  that  we  find  no  mention  of  it  in 
Greek  literature  —  even  among  those  /ittic  comedians 
who  would  have  clutched  at  it  so  eagerly  and  given 
it  so  gross  a  turn  —  till  a  date  more  than  two  hun- 
dred years  after  Sappho^ s  death.      It  is  a  myth  which 


INT^O'DUCTION 

has  begotten  some  exquisite  literature^  both  in  prose 
and  verse f  from  Ovid's  famous  epistle  to  /Iddison's 
gracious  fantasy  and  some  impassioned  and  imper- 
ishable dithyrambs  of  Mr.  Swinburne  '^  but  one  need 
not  accept  the  story  as  fact  in  order  to  appreciate  the 
beauties  which  flowered  out  from  its  coloured  unreality. 
The  applause  of  contemporaries ^  however,  is  not 
always  justified  by  the  verdict  of  after-times,  and  does 
not  always  secure  an  immortality  of  renown.  The 
fame  of  Sappho  has  a  more  stable  basis.  Her  work 
was  in  the  world's  possession  for  not  far  short  of 
a  thousand  years  —  a  thousand  years  of  changing 
tastes,  searching  criticism,  and  familiar  use.  It  had 
to  endure  the  wear  and  tear  of  quotation,  the  com- 
monizing  touch  of  the  school  and  the  market-place, 
/ind  under  this  test  its  glory  grew  ever  more  and 
more  conspicuous.  Through  those  thousand  years 
poets  and  critics  vied  with  one  another  in  proclaim- 
ing her  verse  the  one  unmatched  exemplar  of  lyric 
art.  Such  testimony,  even  though  not  a  single  frag- 
ment remained  to  us  from  which  to  judge  her  poetry 
for  ourselves,  might  well  convince  us  that  the  suprem- 
acy acknowledged  by  those  who  knew  all  the  triumphs 


INTRODUCTION 

of  the  genius  of  old  Greece  was  beyond  the  assault 
of  any  modern  rival.  We  might  safely  accept  the 
sustained  judgment  of  a  thousand  years  of  Greece, 

Fortunately  for  us^  however^  two  small  but  incom- 
parable odes  and  a  few  scintillating  fragments  have 
survived^  quoted  and  handed  down  in  the  eulogies  of 
critics  and  expositors.  In  these  the  wisest  minds^ 
the  greatest  poets^  and  the  most  inspired  teachers  of 
modern  days  have  found  justification  for  the  unani- 
mous verdict  of  antiquity.  The  tributes  of  Addison^ 
Tennyson^  and  others^  the  throbbing  paraphrases  and 
ecstatic  interpretations  of  Swinburne^  are  too  well 
known  to  call  for  special  comment  in  this  brief  note  ^ 
but  the  concise  summing  up  of  her  genius  by  Mr, 
Watts-T)unton  in  his  remarkable  essay  on  poetry  is 
so  convincing  and  illuminating  that  it  seems  to  de- 
mand quotation  here :  ^^  Never  before  these  songs 
were  sung^  and  never  since^  did  the  human  soul^  in 
the  grip  of  a  fiery  passion^  utter  a  cry  like  hers;  and^ 
from  the  executive  point  of  view^  in  directness^  in 
lucidity^  in,  that  high^  imperious  verbal  economy 
which  only  nature  can  teach  the  artist^  she  has  no 
equal^  and  none  worthy  to  take  the  place  of  second,^ ^ 


INT'RO^UCTION 

The  poems  of  Sappho  so  mysteriously  lost  to  us 
seem  to  have  consisted  of  at  least  nine  books  of 
odes,  together  with  epithalamia,  epigrams,  elegies, 
and  monodies.  Of  the  several  theories  which  have 
been  advanced  to  account  for  their  disappearance, 
the  most  plausible  seems  to  be  that  which  represents 
them  as  having  been  burned  at  Byzantium  in  the  year 
380  Jlnno  Domini,  by  command  of  Gregory  Nazian- 
zen,  in  order  that  his  own  poems  might  be  studied  in 
their  stead  and  the  morals  of  the  people  thereby  im- 
proved. Of  the  efficacy  of  this  act  no  means  of 
judging  has   come  down  to  us. 

In  recent  years  there  has  arisen  a  great  body  of 
literature  upon  the  subject  of  Sappho,  most  of  it  the 
abstruse  work  of  scholars  writing  for  scholars,  ^ut 
the  gist  of  it  all,  together  with  the  minutest  sur- 
viving fragment  of  her  verse,  has  been  made  available 
to  the  general  reader  in  English  by  Mr.  Henry  T. 
Wharton,  in  whose  altogether  admirable  little  vol- 
ume we  find  all  that  is  known  and  the  most  apposite 
of  all  that  has  been  said  up  to  the  present  day  about 

'*  Love's  priestess,  mad  with  pain  and  joy  of  song. 
Song's  priestess,  mad  with  joy  and  pain  of  love." 


INTRODUCTION 

Perhaps  the  most  perilous  and  the  most  alluring 
venture  in  the  whole  field  of  poetry  is  that  which 
Mr.  Carman  has  undertaken  in  attempting  to  give  us 
in  English  verse  those  lost  poems  of  Sappho  of 
which  fragments  have  survived.  The  task  is  obvi- 
ously not  one  of  translation  or  of  paraphrasing^  but 
of  imaginative  and^  at  the  same  time^  interpretive 
construction.  It  is  as  if  a  sculptor  of  to-day  were 
to  set  himself,  with  reverence,  and  trained  crafts- 
manship, and  studious  familiarity  with  the  spirit, 
technique,  and  atmosphere  of  his  subject,  to  restore 
some  statues  of  ^olyclitus  or  Praxiteles  of  which 
he  had  but  a  broken  arm,  a  foot,  a  knee,  a  finger 
upon  which  to  build,  Mr,  Carman^ s  method,  appar- 
ently, has  been  to  imagine  each  lost  lyric  as  discov- 
ered, and  then  to  translate  it;  for  the  indefinable 
flavor  of  the  translation  is  maintained  throughout, 
though  accompanied  by  the  fluidity  and  freedom  of 
purely  original  work. 


XI 


Now  to  please  my  little  friend 
I  must  make  these  songs  of  springs 
With  the  soft  south-west  wind  in  them 
Jlnd  the  marsh  notes  of  the  frogs, 

I  must  take  a  gold-hound  pipe^ 
/Ind  outmatch  the  bubbling  call 
From  the  beechwoods  in  the  sunlight, 
From  the  meadows  in  the  rain. 


CONTENTS 


Now  to  please  my  little  friend 
I   Cyprus,  Paphos,  or  Panormus     . 
II   What  shall  we  do,  Cytherea  ? 

III  Power  and  beauty  and  knowledge     . 

IV  O  Pan  of  the  evergreen  forest 
V  O  Aphrodite 

VI   Peer  of  the  ^ods  he  seems 
VII   The  Cyprian  came  to  thy  cradle  . 

VIII   Aphrodite  of  the  foam 

IX    Nay,  but  always  and  forever  . 
X   Let  there  be  garlands,  Dica    . 
XI  When  the  Cretan  maidens. 
XII    In  a  dream  I  spokewith  the  Cyprus-born 

XIII  Sleep  thou  in  the  bosom     .... 

XIV  Hesperus,  bringing  together    . 
XV   In  the  grey  olive  grove  a  small  brown  bird 

XVI   In  the  apple  boughs  the  coolness 
XVII    Pale  rose  leaves  have  fallen    . 
XVIII   The  courtyard  of  her  house  is  wide 
XIX   There  is  a  medlar-tree         .... 


xiu 

I 

2 

3 

4 

6 

8 
JO  tc 

12 

IX. 
14 
15 

li-. 

17 
18 

20 
21 
22 
23 


CONTENTS 


XX    I  behold  Arcturus  ^oing  westward 
XXI    Softly  the  first  step  of  twilight 
XXII    Once  you  lay  upon  my  bosom 

XXIII  I  loved  thee,  Atthis,  in  the  long  ago 

XXIV  I  shall  be  ever  maiden   .... 
XXV    It  was  summer  when  I  found  you 

XXVI    I  recall  thy  white  gown,  cinctured 
XXVII    Lover,  art  thou  of  a  surety 
XXVIII   With  your  head  thrown  backward 
XXIX   Ah,  what  am  I  but  a  torrent    .      . 
XXX    Love  shakes  my  soul,  like  a  mountain 

wind         

XXXI    Love,  let  the  wind  cry    .... 
XXXII    Heart  of  mine,  if  all  the  altars 

XXXIII  Never  yet,  love,  in  earth's  lifetime 

XXXIV  ''Who  was  Atthis?"  men  shall  ask 
XXXV  When  the  great  pink  mallow    .      . 

XXXVl   When  I  pass  thy  door  at  night      . 
XXXVII   Well  I  found  you  in  the  twilit  garden 
XXXVIII   Will  not  men  remember  us 
XXXIX    I  grow  weary  of  the  foreign  cities 


CONTENTS 


XL  Ah,  what  detains  thee,  Phaon    . 

XLI    Phaon,  O  my  lover 

XLII   O  heart  of  insatiable  lon^in^ 
XLIII   Surely  somehow,  in  some  measure 
XLIV  O  but  my  delicate  lover    .... 
XLV  Softer  than  the  hill  fo^  to  the  forest 

XLVI    I  seek  and  desire 

XLVII   Like  torn  sea-kelp  in  the  drift    . 
XLVIII   Fine  woven  purple  linen 
XLIX  When  I  am  home  from  travel     . 
L  When  I  behold  the  pharos  shine     . 

LI    Is  the  day  long 

LII   Lo,  on  the  distance  a  dark  blue  ravine 
LIII  Art  thou  the  topmost  apple    . 
LIV   How  soon  will   all  my  lovely  days  be 

over       .      

LV  Soul  of  sorrow,  why  this  weeping  ? 

LVI    It  never  can  be  mine 

LVII   Others  shall  behold  the  sun  .      .      . 
LVIII    Let  thy  strong  spirit  never  fear 
LIX  Will  none  say  of  Sappho 


47 
48 
50 
51 
52 

53 
54 
55 
56 
57 
58 
59 

64 

65 
66 
67 
68 
69 
70 


CONTENTS 


LX   When  I  have  departed 71  _ 

LXI   There  is  no  more  to  say  now  thou  art 

still 72 

LXII    Play  up,  play  up  thy  silver  flute      .      .  7^ 

LXIII   A  beautiful  child  is  mine        ....  74 

LXIV   Ah,  but  now  henceforth 75 

LXV   Softly    the   wind    moves    through    the 

radiant  morning 76 

LXVI   What  the  west  wind  whispers    .      .      .  77 

LXVII    Indoors  the  fire  is  kindled     ....  79 
LXVIII   You  ask  how  love  can  keep  the  mortal 

soul 80 

LXIX   Like  a  tall  forest  were  their  spears      .  82 

LXX   My  lover  smiled,  '*0  friend,  ask  not   .  83 

LXXI   Ye  who  have  the  stable  world   ...  84 

LXXII    I  heard  the  gods  reply ,S3__ 

LXXIII   The  sun  on  the  tide,  the  peach  on  the 

bough  86 

LXXIV   If  death  be  good 87 

LXXV  Tell  me  what  this  life  means     ...  88 

LXXVl    Ye  have  heard  how  Marsyas     ...  89 

xviii 


CONTENTS 

LXXVII    Hour  by  hour  I  sit 90 

LXXVIII   Once  in  the  shining  street      ...  91 

LXXIX   How  strange  is  love,  O  my  lover    .  92 

LXXX   How  to  say  I  love  you       .      .      .      .  93 

LXXXI    Hark,  love,  to  the  tambourines  .      .  94 

LXXXII   Over  the  roofs  the  honey-coloured 

moon 95 

LXXXIII    In  the  quiet  garden  world       ...  96 

LXXXI V  Soft  was  the  wind  in  the  beech-trees  97 
LXXXV   Have  ye  heard  the  news  of  Sappho's 

garden         98 

LXXXVI   Love  is  so  strong  a  thing        .      .      .  lOI 
LXXXVII    Hadst  thou  with   all  thy   loveliness 

been  true 102 

LXXXVIII   As    on    a    morn    a   traveller   might 

emerge 10^    _ 

LXXXIX  Where  shall  I  look  for  thee  .      .      .  lO'i  C^tiid 
XC   O  sad,  sad  face  and  saddest  eyes  that 

ever 107 

XCI   Why  have  the  gods  in  derision   .      .109 

XCII   Like  a  red  lily  in  the  meadow  grasses  I  I  I 

xix 


CONTENTS 


XCIII   When  in  the  spring  the  swallows  all 

return 112 

XCIV  Cold  is  the  wind  where  Daphne  sleeps    I  13 
XCV   Hark,  where  Poseidon's     .      .      .      .114 
XCVI    Hark,  my  lover,  it  is  spring!    .      .      .116 
XCVII   When  the  early  soft  spring  wind  comes 

blowing 119 

XCVIII    I    am    more   tremulous    than    shaken 

reeds 121 

XCIX  Over  the  wheat  field 122 

C   Once  more  the  rain  on  the  mountain    124 


SAPPHO 


CYPRUS,    Paphos,  or   Panormus 
May  detain  thee  with  their  splendour 
Of  oblations  on  thine  altars, 
O   imperial  Aphrodite. 

YET   do  thou  regard,  with   pity 
For  a  nameless  child  of  passion, 
This   small   unfrequented  valley 
By  the  sea,   O   sea-born   mother. 


w 


HAT   shall  we  do,  Cytherea  ? 
Lovely   Adonis   is   dying. 
Ah,   but   we   mourn   him! 


WILL   he  return  when   the   Autumn 
Purples  the  earth,   and  the   sunlight 
Sleeps  in   the  vineyard  ? 

WILL   he  return   when   the  Winter 
Huddles  the   sheep,   and   Orion 
Goes   to   his   hunting? 

AH,   for  thy  beauty,   Adonis, 
^    With   the  soft   spring  and  the   south   wind. 
Love  and  desire! 


Ill 


POWER  and  beauty  and  knowledge,- 
Pan,  Aphrodite,   or   Hermes, — 
Whom   shall  we  life-loving  mortals 
Serve  and  be  happy  ? 

IO,  now  your  garlanded  altars, 
-^    Are  they  not  goodly  with   flowers  ? 
Have  ye  not  honour  and  pleasure 
In  lovely  Lesbos  ? 

WILL  ye  not,  therefore,  a  little 
Hearten,   impel,  and  inspire 
One  who  adores,  with   a  favour 
Threefold  in  wonder? 


IV 


OPan   of  the  evergreen  forest, 
Protector  of  herds   in   the  meadows, 
Helper   of  men   at   their   toiling, — 
Tillage   and   harvest   and   herding, — 
How   many  times   to   frail   mortals 
Hast  thou  not  hearkened  ! 

NOW  even    I    come  before  thee 
With   oil   and  honey  and  wheat  bread, 
Praying  for  strength   and  fulfilment 
Of  human   longing,   with    purpose 
Ever  to   keep  thy  great  worship 
Pure  and   undarkened. 

II 

O    Hermes,   master  of  knowledge, 
Measure  and  number  and  rhythm. 
Worker  of  wonders   in   metal. 
Moulder  of  malleable  music. 
So   often   the  giver   of   secret 
Learning   to   mortals! 


Now  even   I,   a  fond  woman, 
Frail   and  of  small   understanding, 
Yet  with   unslakable  yearning 
Greatly  desiring  wisdom, 
Come  to  the  threshold  of  reason 
And  the  bright  portals. 

Ill 
And   thou,   sea-born  Aphrodite, 
l\   In  whose  beneficent  keeping 
Earth   with   her  infinite  beauty. 
Colour  and  fashion  and  fragrance. 
Glows  like  a  flower  with   fervour 
Where  woods  are  vernal ! 

TOUCH   with   thy  lips  and  enkindle 
This  moon-white  delicate  body. 
Drench   with   the  dew  of  enchantment 
This  mortal  one,  that   I   also 
Grow  to  the  measure  of  beauty 
Fleet  yet  eternal. 


V 


O    Aphrodite, 
God-born   and  deathless, 
Break   not   my   spirit 
With   bitter  anguish, 
Thou  wilful   empress! 
I    pray  thee,   hither! 

As   once  aforetime 
i    V  Well   thou  didst  hearken 
To   my  voice   far   off, — 
Listen,   and   leaving 
Thy  father's  golden 
House   in  yoked  chariot, 

COME,   thy   fleet   sparrows 
Beating  the  mid-air 
Over  the  dark   earth. 
Suddenly   near   me, 
Smiling,   immortal, 
Thy   bright   regard   asked. 


WHAT  had  befallen,— 
Why   I   had  called  thee,— 
What   my  mad  heart  then 
Most  was  desiring. 
''What  fair  thin^  wouldst  thou 
Lure  now  to  love  thee  ? 

''  \    X    THO  wrongs  thee,   Sappho? 
V   V       If  now  she  flies  thee. 
Soon   shall   she  follow;  — 
Scorning  thy  ^ifts   now. 
Soon   be  the  ^iver;  — 
And  a  loth   loved  one 

SOON   be  the  lover." 
So  even   now,   too, 
Come  and  release  me 
From   mordant  love  pain. 
And  all   my  heart's  will 
Help  me  accomplish ! 

7 


VI 


PEER  of  the  gods  he  seems, 
Who   in    thy   presence 
Sits   and   hears   close   to   him 
Thy  silver  speech-tones 
And   lovely  laughter. 

AH,   but  the  heart  flutters 
L    Under  my  bosom, 
When    I    behold  thee 
Even   a   moment; 
Utterance   leaves   me; 


M' 


Y   tongue   is   useless; 
A  subtle  fire 
Runs   through    my   body; 
My  eyes  are   sightless. 
And  my   ears   ringing  ; 


I    flush   with   fever, 
And  a  strong  trembling 
Lays  hold  upon  me; 
Paler  than  grass  am   I, 
Half  dead  for  madness. 

YET   must   I,  greatly 
Daring,   adore  thee, 
As  the  adventurous 
Sailor  makes  seaward 
For  the  lost  sky-line 

AND   undiscovered 
L    Fabulous   islands, 
Drawn  by  the  lure  of 
Beauty  and  summer 
And  the  sea's  secret. 


VII 


THE   Cyprian   came   to   thy   cradle, 
When   thou   wast   little   and   small, 
And   said   to   the   nurse   who   rocked   thee, 
*' Fear   not   thou   for   the   child: 

"^  HE   shall   be  kindly  favoured, 
<J    And  fair  and  fashioned  well, 
As  befits  the   Lesbian   maidens 
And  those  who  are  fated  to   love." 

HERMES   came  to  thy  cradle, 
Resourceful,   sagacious,   serene, 
And   said,   **The  girl   must  have   knowledge. 
To   lend   her   freedom   and   poise. 

NAUGHT   will   avail   her  beauty, 
If   she   have   not  wit   beside. 
She   shall   be    Hermes'    daughter. 
Passing  wise   in   her  day." 

10 


GREAT   Pan  came  to  thy  cradle, 
With   calm  of  the  deepest  hills, 
And  smiled,   ''They  have  forgotten 
The  veriest  power  of  life. 

TO  kindle  her  shapely  beauty. 
And  illumine  her  mind  withal, 
I   give  to  the  little  person 
The  glowing  and  craving  soul/' 


II 


VIII 


APHRODITE  of  the  foam, 
L    Who  hast  ^iven   all  ^ood  ^ifts, 
And   made   Sappho   at   thy   will 
Love  so  greatly  and  so   much, 

AH,   how   comes   it   my   frail   heart 
L    Is   so   fond   of  all   things   fair, 
I   can   never  choose  between 
Gor^o  and  Andromeda? 


12 


IX 


NAY,  but  always  and  forever 
Like  the  bending  yellow  grain, 
Or  quick  water  in  a  channel, 
Is  the  heart  of  man. 

COMES   the  unseen  breath   in  power 
Like  a  great  wind  from  the  sea, 
And  we  bow  before  his  coming. 
Though   we  know  not  why. 


13 


X 


LET   there  be  garlands,    Dica, 
-^    Around   thy   lovely   hair, 
And   supple   sprays  of  blossom 
Twined  by  thy   soft  hands. 

WHOSO   is  crowned  with   flowers 
Has  favour  with   the  ^ods, 
Who  have  no  kindly  eyes 
For  the   un^arlanded. 


14 


XI 


WHEN   the  Cretan  maidens, 
Dancing  up  the  full  moon 
Round  some  fair  new  altar, 
Trample  the  soft  blossoms  of  fine  ^rass, 

THERE   is  mirth   among  them. 
Aphrodite's  children 
Ask  her  benediction 
On  their  bridals  in  the  summer  night. 


15 


XII 


IN    a   dream    I    spoke   with    the   Cyprus-born, 
And   said   to   her, 
**  Mother  of  beauty,  mother  of  joy, 
Why   hast  thou  given   to   men 

THIS    thing    called    love,   like    the    ache    of 
a  wound 
In   beauty's   side. 

To   burn  and   throb  and  be  quelled  for   an  hour 
And  never  wholly  depart?" 

AND  the  daughter  of  Cyprus  said  to  me, 
L    ^^  Child  of  the  earth. 
Behold,   all  things  are  born   and  attain. 
But  only  as  they  desire, — 

THE   sun   that   is  strong,  the  gods   that  are 
wise. 
The   loving  heart. 
Deeds  and  knowledge  and  beauty  and  joy. 

But  before   all   else  was  desire." 

16 


XIII 


SLEEP  thou  in  the  bosom 
Of  the  tender  comrade, 
While  the  living  water 
Whispers  in  the  well-run, 
And  the  oleanders 
Glimmer  in  the  moonlight. 

SOON,   ah,   soon  the  shy  birds 
Will  be  at  their  fluting, 
And  the  morning  planet 
Rise  above  the  garden; 
For  there  is  a  measure 
Set  to  all  things  mortal. 


17 


H 


XIV 


ESPERUS,   bringing  together 
All   that  the  morning  star  scattered,- 


S 


HEEP   to   be   folded   in   twilight, 
Children   for  mothers  to  fondle, — 


M 


E   too   will   bring  to   the   dearest, 
Tenderest  breast  in   all    Lesbos. 


18 


XV 


IN   the  ^rey  olive  grove  a  small  brown  bird 
Had  built  her  nest  and  waited  for  the  spring. 
But  who  could  tell  the  happy  thought  that  came 
To  lodge  beneath   my  scarlet  tunic's  fold  ? 

ALL  day  long  now  is  the  green  earth   renewed 
L    With    the    bright    sea-wind    and    the  yellow 
blossoms. 
From  the  cool  shade   I   hear  the  silver  plash 
Of  the  blown  fountain  at  the  garden's  end. 


19 


XVI 


IN   the  apple  boughs  the  coolness 
Murmurs,   and  the  ^rey  leaves  flicker 
Where  sleep  wanders. 

IN   this  garden  all  the  hot  noon 
I   await  thy  fluttering  footfall 
Through   the   twilight. 


20 


XVII 


PALE   rose  leaves  have  fallen 
In  the  fountain  water; 
And  soft  reedy  flute-notes 
Pierce  the  sultry  quiet. 

BUT    I   wait  and  listen, 
Till  the  trodden  gravel 
Tells  me,   all  impatience. 
It  is   Phaon's  footstep. 


21 


XVIII 


THE   courtyard  of  her  house  is  wide 
And  cool    and  still   when   day  departs. 
Only   the   rustle   of  leaves   is   there 
And  running  water. 

AND  then  her  mouth,   more  delicate 
L    Than  the  frail  wood-anemone, 
Brushes  my  cheek,  and  deeper  ^row 
The  purple  shadows. 


22 


XIX 


THERE   is  a  medlar-tree 
Growing  in  front  of  my  lover's  house, 
And  there  all  day 
The  wind  makes  a  pleasant  sound. 

AND  when  the  evening  comes, 
L   We  sit  there  together  in   the  dusk 
And  watch   the  stars 
Appear  in  the  quiet  blue. 


23 


XX 


I    behold   Arcturus  ^oin^  westward 
Down  the  crowded  slope  of  ni^ht-dark  azure, 
While  the   Scorpion  with   red   Antares 
Trails  along  the   sea-line  to  the   southward. 

FROM   the   ilex  grove  there  comes   soft 
laughter, — 
My  companions  at  their  glad  love-making, — 
While  that   curly-headed  boy  from    Naxos 
With   his  jade  flute  marks  the   purple   quiet. 


24 


XXI 


SOFTLY  the  first  step  of  twilight 
Falls  on  the  darkening  dial, 
One  by  one  kindle  the  lights 
In   Mitylene. 

NOISES   are  hushed  in  the  courtyard, 
The  busy  day  is  departing, 
Children  are  called  from  their  games, — 
Herds  from  their  grazing. 

AND  from  the  deep-shadowed  angles 
^   Comes  the  soft  murmur  of  lovers, 
Then  through   the  quiet  of  dusk 
Bright  sudden  laughter. 

FROM  the  hushed  street,  through  the  portal, 
Where  soon  my  lover  will  enter. 
Comes  the  pure  strain  of  a  flute 
Tender  with   passion. 


25 


XXII 


ONCE  you   lay   upon   my  bosom, 
While  the   lon^   blue-silver   moonlight 
Walked  the   plain,   with   that  pure  passion 
All  your  own. 

NOW   the   moon   is  gone,   the   Pleiads 
Gone,   the  dead  of  night   is  going. 
Slips   the   hour,   and   on    my   bed 
I   lie  alone. 


26 


XXIII 


1    loved  thee,  Atthis,  in  the  long  ago, 
When  the  great  oleanders  were  in  flower 
In  the  broad  herded  meadows  full  of  sun. 
And  we  would  often  at  the  fall  of  dusk 
Wander  together  by  the  silver  stream, 
When  the  soft  grass-heads  were  all  wet  with 

dew 
And  purple-misted  in  the  fading  light. 
And  joy   I   knew  and  sorrow  at  thy  voice, 
And  the  superb  magnificence  of  love, — 
The  loneliness  that  saddens  solitude. 
And  the  sweet  speech   that  makes  it  durable,- 
The  bitter  longing  and  the  keen   desire. 
The  sweet  companionship  through   quiet  days 
In  the  slow  ample  beauty  of  the  world. 
And  the  unutterable  glad  release 
Within  the  temple  of  the  holy  night. 
O   Atthis,   how   I   loved  thee  long  ago 
In  that  fair  perished  summer  by  the  sea! 


27 


XXIV 


1    shall   be  ever  maiden, 
If  thou   be   not   my   lover, 
And  no   man   shall   possess  me 
Henceforth   and  forever. 

BUT   thou  alone  shalt  gather 
This  fragile  flower  of  beauty, — 
To  crush   and  keep  the   fragrance 
Like  a  holy   incense. 

THOU   only  shalt  remember 
This  love  of  mine,   or  hallow 
The  coming  years  with   gladness. 
Calm   and  pride  and  passion. 


28 


XXV 


IT  was  summer  when    I   found  you 
In  the  meadow  long  ago, 
And  the  golden  vetch  was  growing 
By  the  shore. 

DID  we  falter  when  love  took  us 
With   a  gust  of  great  desire? 
Does  the  barley  bid  the  wind  wait 
In  his  course? 


29 


XXVI 


1    recall  thy  white  ^own,  cinctured 
With   a  linen   belt  whereon 
Violets  were  wrought,   and  scented 
With   strange  perfumes  out  of   Egypt. 

AND    I    know  thy  foot  was  covered 
>^    With   fair    Lydian   broidered   straps; 
And  the  petals  from   a  rose-tree 
Fell   within   the  marble  basin. 


30 


XXVII 


EVER,  art  thou  of  a  surety 
Not  a  learner  of  the  wood-^od? 
Has  the  madness  of  his  music 
Never  touched  thee? 

AH,  thou  dear  and  godlike  mortal, 
L    If   Pan  takes  thee  for  his  pupil, 
Make  me  but  another  Syrinx 
For  that  piping. 


31 


XXVII 


WITH   your   head  thrown   backward 
In    my   arm's   safe   hollow, 
And  your  face  all   rosy 
With   the  mounting  fervour; 

WHILE   the  grave  eyes  greaten 
With   the  wise  new  wonder, 
Swimming   in   a   love-mist 
Like   the   haze   of  Autumn; 

FROM   that  throat,   the  throbbing 
Nightingale's   for   pleading 
Wayward  soft  and  welling 
Inarticulate  love-notes, 

COME   the  words  that  bubble 
Up   through    broken   laughter. 
Sweeter  than   spring  water, 
"Gods,    I   am   so  happy!" 


32 


XXIX 

AH,  what  am   I   but  a  torrent, 
-    Headstrong,  impetuous,  broken. 
Like  the  spent  clamour  of  waters 
In  the  blue  canyon  ? 

AH,  what  art  thou  but  a  fern-frond, 
k.    Wet  with   blown  spray  from  the  river, 
Diffident,  lovely,  sequestered, 
Frail   on  the  rock-ledge  ? 

YET,   are  we  not  for  one  brief  day, 
While  the  sun  sleeps  on  the  mountain, 
Wild-hearted  lover  and  loved  one, 
Safe  in   Pan's  keeping? 


33 


XXX 

LOVE   shakes   my   soul,   like  a  mountain   wind 
-^    Falling   upon   the   trees, 
When   they  are   swayed  and  whitened  and  bowed 
As   the  great   gusts   will. 

I    know  why    Daphne  sped  through   the  grove 
When   the  bright  god   came  by, 
And   shut  herself  in   the   laurel's  heart 
For   her   silent   doom. 

LOVE   fills  my  heart,   like   my  lover's  breath 
^    Filling  the   hollow   flute, 
Till   the   magic  wood  awakes   and  cries 
With   remembrance  and  joy. 

AH,   timid   Syrinx,   do    1    not   know 
L    Thy   tremor   of  sweet   fear! 
For   a   beautiful   and   imperious   player 
Is   the   lord   of   life. 


34 


XXXI 


EVE,  let  the  wind  cry 
On  the  dark  mountain, 
Bending  the  ash-trees 
And  the  tall  hemlocks, 
With  the  great  voice  of 
Thunderous  legions, 
How   I   adore  thee. 

LET   the  hoarse  torrent 
J    In  the  blue  canyon. 
Murmuring  mightily 
Out  of  the  grey  mist 
Of  primal  chaos, 
Cease  not  proclaiming 
How   I   adore  thee. 

LET   the  long  rhythm 
J    Of  crunching  rollers, 
Breaking  and  bellowing 
On   the  white  seaboard, 
Titan  and  tireless. 
Tell  while  the  world  stands, 
How   I   adore  thee. 
35 


LOVE,   let  the   clear  call 
J   Of  the  tree-cricket, 
Frailest   of  creatures, 
Green   as  the  youn^  ^rass, 
Mark   with    his   trilling 
Resonant   bell-note. 
How   I    adore  thee. 

LET   the  glad  lark-song 
J    Over  the  meadow, 
That  melting  lyric 
Of  molten   silver, 
Be  for  a  signal 
To  listening  mortals, 
How  I  adore  thee. 

BUT   more  than   all   sounds. 
Surer,  serener, 
Fuller  with  passion 
And  exultation. 
Let  the  hushed  whisper 
In   thine  own   heart  say, 
How   I   adore  thee. 
36 


XXXII 

HEART  of  mine,  if  all  the  altars 
Of  the  a^es  stood  before  me, 
Not  one  pure  enough  nor  sacred 
Could   I   find  to  lay  this  white,  white 
Rose  of  love  upon. 

I    who  am  not  ^reat  enough   to 
Love  thee  with   this  mortal   body 
So  impassionate  with   ardour, 
But  oh,  not  too  small  to  worship 
While  the  sun  shall   shine, — 

1    would  build  a  fragrant  temple 
To  thee  in  the  dark  green  forest, 
Of  red  cedar  and  fine  sandal. 
And  there  love  thee  with   sweet  service 
All  my  whole  life  long. 


37 


I    would   freshen   it   with   flowers, 
And   the   piney   hill   wind   through    it 
Should   be   sweetened  with   soft  fervours 
Of  small   prayers   in  gentle  language 
Thou  wouldst   smile  to   hear. 

AND   a  tinkling   Eastern  wind-bell, 
k>    With    its   fluttering   inscription, 
From   the   rafters   with    bronze   music 
Should   retard  the   quiet  fleeting 
Of   uncounted   hours. 

AND   my   hero,  while   so   human, 
k.   Should   be  even   as  the  gods   are, 
In   that   shrine   of   utter  gladness, 
With    the   tranquil   stars   above   it 
And   the   sea   below. 


38 


XXXIII 

NEVER  yet,   love,   in  earth's  lifetime, 
Hath   any  cunnin^est  minstrel 
Told  the  one  seventh   of  wisdom, 
Ravishment,   ecstasy,   transport. 
Hid  in  the  hue  of  the  hyacinth's 
Purple  in   springtime. 

NOT   in  the  lyre  of   Orpheus, 
Not  in  the  son^s  of   Musseus, 
Lurked  the  unfathomed  bewitchment 
Wrought  by  the  wind  in   the  grasses, 
Held  by  the  rote  of  the  sea-surf. 
In  early  summer. 

ONLY   to  exquisite  lovers, 
Fashioned  for  beauty's  fulfilment, 
Mated  as  rhythm  to  reed-stop 
Whence  the  wild  music  is  moulded. 
Ever  appears  the  full  measure 
Of  the  world's  wonder. 

39 


XXXIV 

WHO  was   Atthis?"   men   shall   ask, 
When   the   world   is   old,   and   time 
Has  accomplished  without  haste 
The   strange  destiny  of  men. 

HAPLY  in  that  far-off  age 
One   shall  find  these   silver   songs, 
With   their  human  freight,   and  guess 
What  a  lover   Sappho   was. 


40 


XXXV 


WHEN   the  great  pink  mallow 
Blossoms  in  the  marshland, 
Full  of  lazy  summer 
And  soft  hours, 

THEN    I   hear  the  summons 
Not  a  mortal  lover 
Ever  yet  resisted, 
Strange  and  far. 

IN   the  faint  blue  foothills, 
Making  magic  music. 
Pan  is  at  his  love-work 
On  the  reeds. 

I    can  guess  the  heart-stop. 
Fall  and  lull  and  sequence, 
Full  of  grief  for  Syrinx 
Long  ago. 


41 


THEN   the  crowding  madness, 
Wild  and  keen   and  tender. 
Trembles  with   the  burden 
Of  great  joy. 

NAY,   but  well    I    follow, 
All  unskilled,   that  fluting. 
Never  yet  was  reed-nymph 
Like  to  thee. 


42 


XXXVI 

WHEN    I   pass  thy  door  at  night, 
I   a  benediction  breathe: 
**  Ye  who  have  the   sleeping  world 
In  your  care, 

GUARD  the  linen   sweet  and  cool, 
Where  a  lovely  golden  head 
With   its  dreams  of  mortal   bliss 
Slumbers  now!" 


43 


XXXVII 

WELL  I  found  you  in  the  twilit  garden, 
Laid  a  lover's  hand   upon  your 
shoulder, 
And  we   both   were  made  aware  of  loving 
Past  the  reach   of  reason   to   unravel 
Or  the   much   desiring  heart    to  follow. 

THERE   we  heard  the    breath    among  the 
grasses 
And  the  gurgle   of  soft-running  water, 
Well   contented  with   the   spacious   starlight. 
The   cool   wind's   touch    and   the   deep   blue 

distance. 
Till   the  dawn   came  in  with   golden   sandals. 


44 


XXXVIII 

WILL  not  men  remember  us 
In  the  days  to  come  hereafter,- 
Thy  warm-coloured  loving  beauty 
And  my  love  for  thee? 

THOU,   the  hyacinth   that  grows 
By  a  quiet-running  river; 
I,  the  watery  reflection 
And  the  broken  gleam. 


45 


XXXIX 


Igrow  weary  of  the  foreign  cities, 
The   sea  travel   and  the  stranger  peoples. 
Even   the   clear  voice   of  hardy  fortune 
Dares  me   not  as  once   on   brave   adventure. 

FOR  the  heart  of  man   must   seek   and 
wander, 
Ask  and  question   and  discover  knowledge; 
Yet  above  all  goodly  things  is  wisdom. 
And   love  greater  than   all   understanding. 

SO,   a  mariner,    I   long  for  land-fall, — 
When  a  darker  purple  on  the  sea-rim, 
O'er  the  prow  uplifted,   shall   be   Lesbos 
And  the  gleaming  towers  of   Mitylene. 


46 


XL 

AH,  what  detains  thee,  Phaon, 
.    So  lon^  from    Mitylene, 
Where  now  thy  restless  lover 
Wearies  for  thy  coming? 

A  fever  burns  me,    Phaon; 
My  knees  quake  on  the  threshold. 
And  all   my  strength   is  loosened, 
Slack  with   disappointment. 

BUT   thou  wilt  come,   my   Phaon, 
Back  from  the  sea  like  morning. 
To  quench   in  golden  gladness 
The  ache  of  parted  lovers. 


47 


XLI 


F)HAON,   O   my   lover, 


What   should   so  detain   thee, 


"K  TOW   the  wind  comes  walking 
LL   the   plum   leaves   quiver 


Through   the  leafy  twilight 


A 


With   the  coolth   and  darkness, 


A  FTER   their   long  patience 


K 


In   consuming  ardour. 

ND  the   moving  grasses 

Have   relief;   the   dew-drench 


/^"^OMES   to   quell   the   parching 


I 


Ache  of  noon   they   suffered. 


alone   of   all   things 

Fret   with    unsluiced   fire. 

48 


AND  there  is  no  quenching 
L    In  the  night  for  Sappho, 

SINCE  her  lover   Phaon 
Leaves  her  unrequited. 


49 


XLII 

O    heart  of  insatiable  longing, 
What  spell,  what  enchantment   allures 
thee 
Over  the  rim   of  the  world 
With   the  sails  of  the   sea-going  ships? 

AND  when   the  rose   petals  are   scattered 
>    At  dead  of  still  noon  on   the  grass  plot, 
What  means  this  passionate  grief, — 
This  infinite  ache  of  regret? 


50 


XLIII 

SURELY  somehow,  in  some  measure, 
There  will  be  joy  and  fulfilment, — 
Cease  from  this  throb  of  desire, — 
Even  for  Sappho! 

SURELY  some  fortunate  hour 
Phaon  will  come,   and  his  beauty 
Be  spent  like  water  to  plenish 
Need  of  that  beauty! 

WHERE  is  the  breath   of  Poseidon, 
Cool  from  the  sea-floor  with   evening? 
Why  are  Selene's  white  horses 
So  long  arriving? 


51 


XLIV 

Obut  my  delicate  lover, 
Is   she  not  fair  as  the  moonlight? 
Is  she  not   supple   and  strong 
For  hurried  passion? 

HAS  not  the  god  of  the  green  world, 
In  his  large  tolerant  wisdom, 
Filled  with   the  ardours  of  earth 
Her  twenty  summers? 

WELL   did  he  make  her  for  loving; 
Well   did  he  mould  her  for  beauty; 
Gave  her  the  wish   that  is  brave 
With   understanding. 

OPan,   avert  from  this  maiden 
Sorrow,   misfortune,   bereavement, 
Harm,   and  unhappy  regret," 
Prays  one  fond  mortal. 


52 


XLV 


SOFTER  than  the  hill  fog  to  the  forest 
Are  the  loving  hands  of  my  dear  lover, 
When   she  sleeps  beside  me  in  the  starlight 
And  her  beauty  drenches  me  with   rest. 


A 


S  the  quiet  mist  enfolds  the  beech-trees, 
Even    as    she   dreams  her   arms   enfold 


me, 
Half  awaking  with   a  hundred  kisses 
On  the  scarlet  lily  of  her  mouth. 


53 


XLVI 

Iseek  and  desire, 
Even   as  the  wind 
That  travels  the  plain 
And   stirs   in   the   bloom 
Of  the   apple-tree. 

I    wander  through   life, 
With   the   searching  mind 
That  is  never  at  rest, 
Till   I   reach   the  shade 
Of  my  lover's   door. 


54 


XLVII 

ES.E  torn  sea-kelp   in  the  drift 
Of  the  great  tides  of  the  sea, 
Carried  past  the  harbour-mouth 
To  the  deep  beyond  return, 

I    am  buoyed  and  borne  away 
On  the  loveliness  of  earth, 
Little  caring,  save  for  thee. 
Past  the  portals  of  the  night. 


55 


XLVIII 

FINE   woven   purple   linen 
I   bring  thee  from    Pboccea, 
That,   beauty  upon   beauty, 
A   precious  gift   may   cover 
The  lap  where   I   have  lain. 

AND   a  gold  comb,  and  girdle, 
>^    And  trinkets  of  white   silver, 
And  gems  are   in   my   sea-chest. 
Lest  poor  and  empty-handed 
Thy  lover  should  return. 

AND    I    have   brought  from  Tyre 
*^    A   Pan-flute  stained  vermilion, 
Wherein   the  gods  have  hidden 
Love  and  desire  and   longing. 
Which    I    shall   loose  for  thee. 


56 


XLIX 

WHEN    I   am  home  from  travel, 
My  ea^er  foot  will  stay  not 
Until    I   reach   the  threshold 
Where   I   went  forth   from  thee. 

AND  there  as  darkness  fathers 
^   In  the  rose-scented  garden 
The  ^od  who  prospers  music 
Shall  ^ive  me  skill   to   play. 

AND  thou  shalt  hear,  all  startled, 
^    A  flute  blown   in  the  twilight 
With   the  soft  pleading  ma^ic 
The  ^reen  wood  heard  of  old. 

THEN,   lamp   in  hand,  thy  beauty 
In   the  rose-marble  entry! 
And  unreluctant   Hermes 
Shall  give  me  words  to  say. 


57 


L 


WHEN    I    behold   the   pharos   shine 
And  lay  a  path   along  the   sea, 
How  gladly   I    shall   feel   the  spray^ 
Standing  upon   the   swinging  prow; 

AND  question   of  my  pilot  old, 
L   How  many  watery  leagues  to   sail 
Ere  we   shall   round  the  harbour  reef 
And  anchor  off  the  wharves  of  home! 


58 


LI 

IS  the  day  lon^, 
O    Lesbian  maiden, 
And  the  ni^ht  endless 
In  thy  lone  chamber 
In   Mitylene? 

ALL   the  bright  day, 
L   Until  welcome  evening 
When  the  stars  kindle 
Over  the  harbour, 
What  tasks  employ  thee? 

PASSING   the  fountain 
At  golden   sundown, 
One  of  the  home-going 
Traffickers,  hast  thou 
Thought  of  thy  lover? 


59 


NAY   but  how  far 
Too  brief  will   the  ni^ht  be, 
When    I   returning 
To  the  dear  portal 
Hear  my  own   heart  beat! 


60 


LII 


IO,   on  the   distance   a    dark  blue  ravine, 
-^    A  fold  in  the  mountainous  forests  of  fir, 
Cleft    from   the    sky-line    sheer  down  to  the 
shore! 

Above   are  the  clouds  and  the  white 
1    V    pealing  gulls, 
At  its  foot  is  the    rough    broken   foam  of   the 

sea, 
With   ever  anon  the  long  deep  muffled  roar, — 
A  sigh  from  the  fitful  great  heart  of  the  world. 

THEN  inland  just  where  the  small  meadow 
begins, 
Well  bulwarked  with   boulders  that  jut  in  the 

tide. 
Lies  safe  beyond  storm-beat  the  harbour  in 
sun. 


61 


SEE   where  the  black  fishing-boats,  each   at 
its  buoy, 
Ride   up  on   the   swell   with   their  dare-dancer 

prows. 
To  si^ht  o'er  the   sea-rim  what  venture  may 
come! 

AND  look,  where  the  narrow  white  streets 
L      of  the  town 
Lead  up  from  the  blue  water's  edge  to  the 

wood. 
Scant  room  for  man's  range  between  mountain 

and  sea, 
And  the  market  where  woodsmen   from   over 

the  hill 
May   traffic,  and   sailors  from   far   foreign  ports 
With  treasure  brought  in   from  the  ends  of  the 

earth. 


62 


AND 

r\  t 


see  the  third  house  on  the  left,  with 
that  gleam 
Of  red  burnished  copper — the  hinge  of  the 

door 
Whereat   I   shall   enter,   expected  so  oft 
(Let  love  be  your  sea-star!),  to  voyage  no 
more. 


63 


LIII 


ART   thou  the  topmost   apple 
^    The  gatherers  could  not  reach, 
Reddening  on  the  bough? 
Shall   not   I   take  thee? 

ART   thou  a  hyacinth    blossom 
^    The  shepherds  upon  the  hills 
Have  trodden   into  the  ground? 
Shall  not   I    lift  thee? 

FREE   is  the  young  god   Eros, 
Paying  no  tribute  to   power, 
Seeing  no  evil   in   beauty, 
Full   of  compassion. 

ONCE   having  found  the  beloved, 
However  sorry  or   woeful. 
However  scornful   of  loving, 
Little   it  matters. 


64 


LIV 


HOW  soon  will  all  my  lovely  days  be 
over, 
And   I   no  more  be  found  beneath   the  sun, — 
Neither  beside  the  many-murmuring  sea. 
Nor  where  the  plain  winds  whisper  to  the  reeds, 
Nor  in  the  tall  beech-woods  among  the  hills 
Where  roam  the  bright-lipped  oreads,  nor 

along 
The  pasture  sides  where  berry-pickers  stray 
And  harmless  shepherds  pipe  their  sheep  to 

fold! 

FOR   I   am  eager,  and  the  flame  of  life 
Burns  quickly  in  the  fragile  lamp  of  clay. 
Passion  and  love  and  longing  and  hot  tears 
Consume  this  mortal   Sappho,   and  too   soon 
A  great  wind  from  the  dark  will  blow  upon  me, 
And   I   be  no  more  found  in  the  fair  world. 
For  all  the  search   of  the  revolving  moon 
And  patient  shine  of  everlasting  stars. 

65 


LV 


SOUL   of  sorrow,   why   this   weeping? 
What  immortal  grief  hath   touched  thee 
With   the   poignancy   of   sadness, — 
Testament  of  tears? 

HAVE  the  high  gods  deigned  to  show  thee 
Destiny,  and  disillusion 
Fills  thy  heart  at  all   things  human, 
Fleeting  and   desired? 

NAY,   the  gods  themselves  are  fettered 
By  one  law  which   links  together 
Truth   and  nobleness  and  beauty, 
Man   and   stars  and  sea. 

AND   they   only   shall   find   freedom 
^    Who   with    courage   rise   and   follow 
Where   love   leads   beyond   all   peril. 
Wise   beyond   all   words. 


66 


LVI 

IT  never  can  be  mine 
To  sit  in  the  door  in  the  sun 
And  watch   the  world  ^o  by, 
A  pageant  and  a  dream ; 

FOR   I   was  born  for  love, 
And  fashioned  for  desire, 
Beauty,   passion,   and  joy, 
And   sorrow  and  unrest; 

AND  with   all  things  of  earth 
L    Eternally  must  go. 
Daring  the  perilous  bourn 
Of  joyance  and  of  death, 

A  strain   of  song  by  night, 
A  shadow  on  the  hill, 
A  hint  of  odorous  grass, 
A  murmur  of  the  sea. 


67 


LVII 


OTHERS   shall  behold  the  sun 
Through  the   lon^  uncounted  years,- 
Not  a  nnaid  in  after  time 
Wise  as  thou. 

FOR  the  gods  have  given   thee 
Their  best  gift,   an  equal   mind 
That  can  only  love,   be  glad, 
And  fear  not. 


68 


LVIII 


LET  thy  strong  spirit  never  fear, 
J    Nor  in  thy  virgin   soul  be  thou  afraid. 
The  gods  themselves  and  the  almightier  fates 
Cannot  avail  to  harm 

WITH   outward  and  misfortunate  chance 
The  radiant  unshaken  mind  of  him 
Who  at  his  being's  centre  will  abide, 
Secure  from  doubt  and  fear. 

HIS  wise  and  patient  heart  shall   share 
The  strong  sweet  loveliness  of  all  things 
made 
And  the  serenity  of  inward  joy 
Beyond  the  storm  of   tears. 


69 


LIX 

WILL   none   say   of   Sappho, 
Speaking  of  her  lovers, 
And  the  love  they  gave  her, — 
Joy  and  days  and  beauty, 
Flute-playing  and  roses. 
Song  and  wine  and   laughter, — 

WILL   none,   musing,   murmur, 
'^Yet  for  all  the  roses, 
All   the  flutes  and  lovers, 
Doubt  not  she  was  lonely 
As  the  sea,   whose   cadence 
Haunts   the  world  forever." 


70 


LX 


WHEN   I   have  departed, 
Say  but  this  behind  me, 
Love  was  all  her  wisdom, 
All  her  care. 

WELL   she  kept  love's  secret,- 
Dared  and  never  faltered, — 
Laughed  and  never  doubted 
Love  would  win. 

'  T  ET  the  world's  rou^h   triumph 
i  >   Trample  by  above  her, 
She  is  safe  forever 
From  all  harm. 


I 


**  ^  N   a  land  that  knows  not 
Bitterness  nor  sorrow, 


She  has  found  out  all 
Of  truth   at  last." 

71 


LXI 

THERE   is  no  more  to   say  now  thou  art 
still, 
There   is  no  more  to   do   now  thou  art  dead, 
There  is  no   more  to  know  now  thy  clear  mind 
Is  back   returned   unto  the  gods  who  gave  it. 

NOW  thou  art  gone  the  use  of  life   is  past, 
The   meaning  and  the  glory  and  the  pride. 
There   is  no  joyous  friend  to   share  the  day 
And  on   the  threshold  no  awaited   shadow. 


72 


LXII 

PLAY  up,   play  up  thy  silver  flute; 
The  crickets  all   are  brave; 
Glad  is  the  red  autumnal  earth 
And  the  blue  sea. 

PLAY  up  thy  flawless  silver  flute; 
Dead  ripe  are  fruit  and  ^rain. 
When   Love  puts  on  his  scarlet  coat, 
Put  off  thy  care. 


73 


LXIII 

A  beautiful   child   is   mine, 
Formed  like  a  golden   flower, 
Cleis  the  loved  one. 
And  above  her   I   value 
Not  all  the   Lydian   land, 
Nor  lovely   Hellas. 


74 


LXIV 


H,   but  now  henceforth 
Only  one  meaning 
Has  life  for  me. 


K 


ONLY  one  purport, 
Measure  and  beauty, 
Has  the  bright  world. 


W 


HAT    mean  the  wood-winds, 
Colour  and  morning, 
Bird,   stream,   and  hill? 


A^ 


ND  the  brave  city 

With   its  enchantment? 
Thee,  only  thee. 


75 


LXV 


SOFTLY   the   wind   moves  through   the 
radiant  morning, 
And  the  warm   sunlight  sinks   into  the  valley, 
Filling  the  green  earth   with   a  quiet  joyance, 
Strength,   and  fulfilment. 

EVEN    so,  gentle,  strong  and  wise  and  happy, 
Through  the  soul  and  substance  of  my  being, 
Comes  the  breath   of  thy  great  love  to   meward, 
O  thou  dear  mortal. 


76 


LXVI 

WHAT  the  west  wind  whispers 
At  the  end  of  summer, 
When  the  barley  harvest 
Ripens  to  the  sickle, 
Who  can  tell? 

WHAT  means  the  fine  music 
Of  the  dry  cicada, 
Through   the  long  noon  hours 
Of  the  autumn   stillness, 
Who  can  say? 

HOW  the  grape  ungathered 
With  its  bloom  of  blueness 
Greatens  on  the  trellis 
Of  the  brick-walled  garden, 
Who  can  know? 


n 


YET    I,   too,   am  greatened, 
Keep   the  note  of  gladness, 
Travel   by  the  wind's  road. 
Through   this  autumn   leisure, — 
By  thy  love. 


78 


LXVII 

INDOORS  the  fire  is  kindled; 
Beechwood  is  piled  on  the  hearthstone; 
Cold  are  the  chattering  oak    leaves; 
And  the  ponds  frost-bitten. 

SOFTER  than  rainfall  at  twilight, 
Bringing  the  fields  benediction 
And  the  hills  quiet  and  greyness, 
Are  my  long  thoughts  of  thee. 

HOW  should  thy  friend  fear  the  seasons  ? 
They  only  perish   of  winter 
Whom   Love,  audacious  and  tender. 
Never  hath  visited. 


79 


LXVIII 

YOU   ask  bow  love   can   keep   the  mortal 
soul 
Strong  to  the  pitch   of  joy  throughout  the  years. 


A 


SK   how  your  brave  cicada  on   the   bough 
Keeps  the  long  sweet  insistence  of  bis  cry; 


A 


SK  bow  the   Pleiads  steer  across  the  night 
In   their  serene   unswerving  mighty  course; 


A 


SK  bow  the  wood-flowers  waken  to  the  sun, 
Unsummoned  save  by   some  mysterious 
word; 


ASK   bow  the  wandering  swallows  find  your 
L        eaves, 
Upon   the   rain-wind  with    returning   spring; 


80 


ASK  who  commands  the  ever  punctual  tide 
k.   To  keep  the  pendulous  rhythm  of  the 
sea; 


AND  you 
k        man 


shall  know  what  leads  the  heart  of 
man 
To  the  far  haven  of  his  hopes  and  fears* 


81 


LXIX 


LIKE   a   tall   forest  were   their  spears, 
J    Their  banners  like  a   silken   sea, 
When  the  great  host   in   splendour  passed 
Across  the  crimson   sinking  sun. 

AND  then   the  bray  of  brazen   horns 
I.    Arose  above  their  clanking  march. 
As  the   long  waving  column   filed 
Into  the  odorous  purple  dusk. 

O    lover,   in   this  radiant  world 
Whence  is  the  race  of  mortal   men, 
So  frail,   so   mighty,   and   so  fond. 
That  fleets   into  the  vast   unknown? 


82 


LXX 


M 


Y  lover  smiled,   **0  friend,   ask  not 
The  journey's  end  nor  whence  we  are. 


That  whistling  boy  who   minds  his  ^oats 
So  -idly  in  the  grey  ravine. 


T 


HE   brown-backed  rower  drenched  with 


spray, 

The  lemon-seller  in  the   street. 
And  the  young  girl  who  keeps  her  first 
Wild  love-tryst  at  the  rising  moon, — 

LO,  these  are  wiser  than  the  wise. 
^    And  not  for  all   our  questioning 
Shall  we  discover  more  than  joy. 
Nor  find  a  better  thing  than  love! 

'  T  ET   pass  the  banners  and  the  spears, 
L/    The  hate,  the  battle,   and  the  greed; 
For  greater  than  all   gifts  is  peace. 

And  strength   is  in  the  tranquil  mind.'' 

83 


LXXI 

YE  who  have  the  stable  world 
In  the  keeping  of  your  hands, 
Flocks  and  men,   the  lasting  hills. 
And  the  ever-wheeling  stars; 

YE  who  freight  with  wondrous  things 
The  wide-wandering  heart  of  man 
And  the  galleon   of  the  moon, 
On   those  silent  seas  of  foam; 

OH,   if  ever  ye   shall  grant 
Time  and  place  and  room   enough 
To  this  fond  and  fragile  heart 
Stifled  with   the  throb  of  love, 

ON    that  day   one  grave-eyed   Fate, 
Pausing   in   her   toil,    shall    say, 
"  Lo,  one   mortal   has  achieved 
Immortality  of  love!" 


84 


LXXII 


I    heard  the  gods  reply: 
^*  Trust  not  the  future  with   its  perilous 
chance; 
The  fortunate  hour  is  on  the  dial  now. 

TO-DAY  be  wise  and  great, 
And  put  off  hesitation   and  go  forth 
With   cheerful   courage  for  the  diurnal  need. 

STOUT   be  the  heart,  nor  slow 
The  foot  to  follow  the  impetuous  will, 
Nor  the  hand  slack  upon  the  loom   of  deeds. 

THEN   may  the   Fates  look  up 
And  smile  a  little  in  their   tolerant  way. 
Being  full  of  infinite  regard  for  men.*' 


85 


LXXIII 

THE  sun  on  the  tide,  the  peach  on  the  bough, 
The   blue   smoke  over  the  hill, 
And  the   shadows  trailing  the  valley-side. 
Make   up  the  autumn   day. 

AH,   no,   not   half!      Thou   art   not   here 
L    Under  the  bronze  beech   leaves. 
And   thy   lover's   soul   like   a   lonely   child 
Roams  through   an   empty  room. 


86 


LXXIV 

IF  death   be  ^ood, 
Why  do  the  gods  not  die? 
If  life  be  ill, 
Why  do  the  gods  still   live? 

IF  love  be  naught, 
Why  do  the  gods  still  love? 
If  love  be  all, 
What  should  men   do  but  love? 


87 


LXXV 

TELL   me  what  this  life  means, 
O   my  prince  and  lover, 
With   the   autumn   sunlight 
On  thy  bronze-gold  head? 

WITH   thy  clear  voice  sounding 
Through   the  silver  twilight, — 
What  is  the  lost  secret 
Of  the  tacit  earth? 


88 


LXXVI 

E  have  heard  how   Marsyas,  ' ' 

In  the  folly  of  his  pride, 
Boasted  of  a  matchless  skill, — 
When  the  ^reat  ^od's  back  was  turned; 

HOW  his  fond  ima^inin^ 
Fell  to  ashes  cold  and  ^rey, 
When  the  flawless  player  came 
In  serenity  and  li^ht. 

SO  it  was  with   those   I   loved 
In  the  years  ere   I   loved  thee. 
Many  a  saying  sounds  like  truth, 
Until  Truth   itself  is  heard. 


M 


ANY  a  beauty  only  lives 
Until   Beauty  passes  by, 
And  the  mortal  is  forgot 
In  the  shadow  of  the  god. 


89 


LXXVII 

HOUR  by  hour   I    sit, 
Watching  the   silent  door. 
Shadows  go  by  on  the  wall, 
And  steps  in   the   street. 

EXPECTATION  and  doubt 
Flutter  my  timorous  heart. 
So   many  hurrying  home  — 
And  thou   still   away. 


90 


LXXVIII 

ONCE   in  the  shining  street, 
In  the  heart  of  a  seaboard  town, 
As   I   waited,   behold,  there  came 
The  woman    I   loved. 

AS  when  in  the  early  spring 
k.    A  daffodil  blooms  in  the  grass, 
Golden  and  gracious  and  glad, 
The  solitude  smiled. 


91 


LXXIX 


HOW   strange  is  love,  O   my  lover! 
With   what  enchantment  and  power 
Does  it  not  come   upon   mortals, 
Learned  or  heedless  ! 

HOW  far   away  and   unreal, 
Faint  as  blue  isles   in   a  sunset 
Haze-Golden,   all  else  of  life   seems, 
Since   I   have  known  thee! 


92 


LXXX 


HOW  to  say   I   love  you: 
What,  if  I  but  live  it, 
Were  the  use  in  that,  love  ? 
Small,  indeed. 

ONLY,   every  moment 
Of  this  waking  lifetime, 
Let  me  be  your  lover 
And   your   friend ! 

AH,  but  then,  as  sure  as 
^    Blossom  breaks  from  bud-sheath. 
When  along  the  hillside 
Spring  returns, 

GOLDEN  speech  should  flower 
From  the  soul   so  cherished 
And  the  mouth  your  kisses 
Filled  with   fire. 


93 


LXXXI 

HARK,  love,  to   the  tambourines 
Of  the  minstrels   in  the  street, 
And   one  voice   that   throbs   and   soars 
Clear  above  the  clashing  time! 

SOME    Egyptian   royal   love-lilt. 
Some   Sidonian   refrain, 
Vows  of   Paphos  or  of  Tyre, 
Mount  against  the   silver  sun. 

PLEADING,  piercing,  yet  serene, 
Vagrant   in   a   foreign   town, 
From   what   passion   was   it   born. 
In  what   lost  land  over  sea? 


94 


o 


LXXXII 


VER  the  roofs  the  honey-coloured  moon, 
With   purple  shadows  on  the  silver  ^rass, 


A' 


ND  the  warm  south  wind  on  the  curving  sea, 
While  we  two,  lovers  past  all  turmoil  now. 


W 


ATCH   from  the  window  the  white  sails 
come  in. 
Bearing  what  unknown  ventures  safe  to  port  ! 


S 


O  falls  the  hour  of  twilight  and  of  love 
With  wizardry  to  loose  the  hearts  of  men. 


A 


ND  there  is  nothing  more  in  this  ^reat 
world 
Than  thou  and   I   and  the  blue  dome  of  dusk. 


95 


LXXXIII 


IN   the   quiet  garden  world, 
Gold  sunlight  and    shadow  leaves 
Flicker  on   the  wall. 

AND   the  wind  a  moment  since 
L   With   rose-petals  strewed  the  path 
And  the  open  door. 

NOW  the  moon-white  butterflies 
Float  across  the  liquid   air, 
Glad  as  in   a  dream; 

AND  across  thy  lover's  heart 
L   Visions  of  one  scarlet  mouth 
With    its   maddening   smile. 


96 


LXXXIV 

SOFT  was  the  wind  in  the  beech-trees; 
Low  was  the  surf  on  the  shore; 
In  the  blue  dusk  one  planet 
Like  a  ^reat  sea-pharos  shone. 

BUT  nothing  to  me  were  the  sea-sounds, 
The  wind  and  the  yellow  star, 
When  over  my  breast  the  banner 
Of  your  golden  hair  was  spread. 


97 


LXXXV 

HAVE  ye  heard  the  news  of  Sappho's 
garden 
And  the  Golden   Rose  of   Mitylene, 
Which   the  bending  brown-armed  rowers  lately 
Brought  from  over  sea,   from   lonely   Pontus? 

IN    a   meadow   by   the   river    Halys, 
Where   some  wood-god  hath   the  world   in 
keeping, 
On   a  burning  summer  noon   they  found  her. 
Lovely  as   a  dryad  and  more  tender. 

HER  these  eyes  have  seen,  and  not  another 
Shall   behold,   till   time  takes  all   things 
goodly. 
So   surpassing  fair   and   fond   and  wondrous, — 
Such    a   slave   as,   worth    a  great   king's   ransom. 


98 


No  man  yet  of  all  the  sons  of  mortals 
But  would  lose  his  soul  for  and  regret 
not; 
So  hath   Beauty  compassed  all  her  children 
With   the  cords  of  longing  and  desire. 

ONLY   Hermes,  master  of  word  music, 
Ever  yet  in  glory  of  gold  language 
Could  ensphere  the  magical  remembrance 
Of  her  melting,  half  sad,  wayward  beauty, 

OR  devise  the  silver  phrase  to  frame  her, 
The  inevitable  name  to  call   her, 
Half  a  sigh   and  half  a  kiss  when  whispered. 
Like  pure  air  that  feeds  a  forge's  hunger. 

NOT  a  painter  in  the   Isles  of   Hellas 
Could  portray  her,  mix  the  golden  tawny 
With   bright  stain  of  poppies,   or  ensanguine 
Like  the  life  her  darling  mouth's  vermilion, 

99 


So   that   in   the  a^es  lon^  hereafter, 
When  we   shall   be  dust   of  perished 
summers, 
Any  man   could   say  who  found  that  likeness, 
Smiling  ^^ri^ly  o^^   it,  **  This  was  Gorgo!" 


100 


LXXXVI 

LOVE   is  so  strong  a  thing, 
-/    The  very  gods  must  yield, 
When  it  is  welded  fast 
With   the  unflinching  truth. 

LOVE   is  so  frail   a  thing, 
^   A  word,  a  look,  will  kill. 
O  lovers,  have  a  care 
How  ye  do  deal  with   love. 


lOI 


LXXXVII 


HADST  thou  with  all  thy  loveliness  been  true, 
Had   I   with   all  my  tenderness  been  strong, 
We  had  not  made  this  ruin   out  of  life, 
This  desolation   in   a  world  of  joy, 
My  poor  Gorgo. 

YET   even  the  high   gods  at  times  do  err; 
Be  therefore  thou  not  overcome  with  woe, 
But  dedicate  anew  to  greater  love 
An   equal   heart,  and  be  thy  radiant   self 
Once  more,   Gorgo. 


102 


LXXXVIII 


AS   on  a  morn  a  traveller  mi^ht  emerge 
L    From  the  deep  green  seclusion  of  the  hills, 
By  a  cool   road  through  forest  and  through  fern, 
Little  frequented,  winding,  followed  long 
With  joyous  expectation   and  day-dreams. 
And  on  a  sudden  turning  a  great  rock 
Covered  with  frondage,  dark  with  dripping  water. 
Behold  the   seaboard  full  of  surf  and  sound. 
With   all  the   space  and  glory  of  the  world 
Above  the  burnished   silver  of  the   sea, — 


103 


EVEN   so   it  was  upon  that  first  spring  day 
When  time  that   is  a  devious  path   for  men 
Led  me  all   lonely  to  thy  door  at  last; 
And  all   thy   splendid   beauty  gracious  and  glad 
(Glad  as  bright  colour,   free  as  wind  or  air, 
And  lovelier  than   racing  seas  of  foam) 
Bore  sense  and  soul   and  mind  at  once  away 
To  a  pure  region  where  the  gods  might  dwell, 
Making  of  me,   a  vagrant  child  before, 
A   servant  of  joy  at  Aphrodite's  will. 


104 


LXXXIX 

HERE  shall   I   look  for  thee, 
Where  find  thee  now, 
O  my  lost  Atthis? 


W 


s 


TORM   bars  the  harbour. 
And  snow  keeps  the  pass 


In  the  blue  mountains. 


B 


ITTER  the  wind  whistles. 
Pale  is  the  sun. 
And  the  days  shorten. 


CLOSE  to  the  hearthstone, 
With   long  thoughts  of  thee, 
Thy  lonely  lover 


ITS  now,  remembering 
All  the  spent  hours 


S 

And  thy  fair  beauty 


105 


AH,   when   the  hyacinth 
^   Wakens  with   spring, 
And  buds  the  laurel, 

DOUBT   not,   some  morning 
When   all   earth   revives, 
Hearing   Pan's  flute-call 

OVER  the  river-beds, 
Over  the   hills. 
Sounding  the  summons, 

I    shall   look   up   and  behold 
In   the   door, 
Smiling,   expectant, 

LOVING   as  ever 
^    And  glad   as   of  old. 
My  own   lost  Atthis! 

106 


xc 


sad,   sad  face  and  saddest  eyes  that   ever 
Beheld  the  sun, 
Whence  came  the  grief  that  makes  of  all  thy 

beauty 
One  sad  sweet  smile  ? 


O 


I 


N   this  bright  portrait  where  the    painter  fixed 

them 
I    still  behold 
The  eyes  that  gladdened  and  the  lips  that  loved 

me. 
And,  gold  on   rose, 

THE   cloud  of  hair  that  settles  on  one 
shoulder 
Slipped  from   its  vest. 
I   almost  hear  thy   Mitylenean  love-song 
In  the  spring  night, 


107 


w 


HEN   the   still   air    was  odorous  with 
blossoms 
And   in   the  hour 

Thy  first  wild  ^irl's-love  trembled   into  bein^, 
Glad,  ^lad  and  fond. 


A^ 


H,  where   is  all  that  wonder?     What  God's 
malice 
Undid  that  joy 

And  set  the  seal  of  patient  woe  upon   thee, 
O  my  lost  love  ? 


108 


XCI 


WHY  have  the  gods  in  derision 
Severed  us,   heart  of  my  being  ? 
Where  have  they  lured  thee  to  wander, 
O   my  lost  lover  ? 

WHILE   now   I    sojourn  with   sorrow. 
Having  remorse  for  my  comrade, 
What  town  is  blessed  with   thy  beauty. 
Gladdened  and  prospered  ? 

NAY,  who  could  love  as   I   loved  thee. 
With   whom  thy  beauty  was  mingled 
In  those  spring  days  when  the   swallows 
Came  with   the  south  wind  ? 

THEN    I   became  as  that  shepherd 
Loved  by  Selene  on   Latmus, 
Once  when  her  own  summer  magic 
Took  hold  upon  her 


109 


WITH   a  sweet  madness,   and 
thenceforth 
Her  mortal   lover  must  wander 
Over  the   wide  world   forever, 
Like  one  enchanted. 


no 


XCII 

LIKE   a  red  lily  in  the  meadow  grasses, 
J    Swayed  by  the  wind  and  burning  in  the 
sunlight, 
I   saw  you  where  the  city  chokes  with   traffic 
Bearing  among  the  passers-by  your  beauty, 
Unsullied,  wild,   and  delicate  as  a  flower. 
And  then    I   knew  past  doubt  or  peradventure 
Our  loved  and  mighty   Eleusinian  mother 
Had  taken  thought  of  me  for  her  pure  worship, 
And  of  her  favour  had  assigned  my  comrade 
For  the  Great   Mysteries, —  knew   I    should  find 

you 
When   the  dusk  murmured  with   its  new-made 

lovers, 
And  we  be  no  more  foolish   but  wise  children 
And  well  content  partake  of  joy  together. 
As  she  ordains  and  human  hearts  desire. 


Ill 


XCIII 

WHEN    in  the   spring  the   swallows   all 
return, 
And  the  bleak  bitter  sea  grows  mild  once  more, 
With   all   its  thunders   softened  to    a   sigh ; 

WHEN   to  the  meadows  the  young  green 
comes  back, 
And   swelling  buds  put  forth   on   every  bough, 
With   wild-wood  odours  on   the  delicate  air; 

AH,   then,   in  that  so  lovely  earth   wilt  thou 
.    With   all   thy  beauty   love    me  all   one  way. 
And  make  me  all   thy  lover  as  before  ? 

LO,   where  the  white-maned  horses  of  the 
-/    surge. 
Plunging  in   thunderous  onset  to   the   shore. 
Trample  and  break  and  charge  along  the    sand  ! 


112 


XCIV 

COLD  is  the  wind  where   Daphne    sleeps, 
That  was  so  tender  and  so  warm 
With   loving, —  with   a  loveliness 
Than  her  own  laurel  lovelier. 

NOW  pipes  the  bitter  wind  for  her, 
And  the   snow  sifts  about  her  door, 
While  far  below  her  frosty  hill 
The  racing  billows  plunge  and  boom. 


113 


xcv 

HARK,  where   Poseidon's 
White  racing  horses 
Trample  with   tumult 
The  shelving  seaboard! 

OLDER  than    Saturn, 
Older  than    Rhea, 
That  mournful   music. 
Falling  and   surging 

WITH    the  vast   rhythm 
Ceaseless,   eternll, 
Keeps  the  long  tally 
Of  all  things  mortal. 

HOW   many  lovers 
Hath    not   its   lulling 
Cradled  to   slumber 
With   the   ripe   flowers, 

114 


ERE  for  our   pleasure 
This  golden   summer 
Walked  through   the  corn-lands 
In  gracious  splendour! 

HOW  many  loved  ones 
Will  it  not  croon  to^ 
In  the  long  spring  days 
Through   coming  ages, 

WHEN   all  our  day-dreams 
Have  been  forgotten, 
And  none  remembers 
Even  thy  beauty! 

THEY  too  shall  slumber 
In   quiet  places, 
And  mighty  sea-sounds 
Call  them   unheeded. 


115 


XCVI 


HARK,   my  lover,   it  is   spring! 
On   the  wind   a   faint   far   call 
Wakes  a  pang  within   my  heart, 
Unmistakable  and  keen. 

AT   the  harbour  mouth   a  sail 
L    Glimmers   in   the   morning   sun, 
And  the  ripples  at  her  prow 
Whiten   into  crumbling  foam, 

AS   she  forges  outward  bound 
L    For  the  teeming  foreign   ports. 
Through   the  open   window  now, 
Hear  the  sailors  lift  a   song! 

IN   the  meadow  ground  the  frogs 
With    their  deafening  flutes   begin,- 
Tbe  old  madness  of  the  world 
In   their  golden   throats  again. 


116 


LITTLE  fifers  of  live  bronze, 
J   Who  hath  taught  you  with  wise  lore 
To  unloose  the   strains  of  joy, 
When  Orion  seeks  the  west? 

AND  you  feathered  flute-players, 
L    Who  instructed  you  to  fill 
All  the  blossomy  orchards  now 
With   melodious  desire? 

I    doubt  not  our  father   Pan 
Hath   a  care  of  all  these  things. 
In   some  valley  of  the  hills 
Far  away  and  misty-blue, 

BY  quick  water  he  hath   cut 
A  new  pipe,  and  set  the  wood 
To  his   smiling  lips,   and  blown. 
That  earth's  rapture  be  restored. 


117 


AND   those  wild   Pandean   stops 
k    Mark  the  cadence  life   must   keep. 
O   my   lover,   be  thou  ^lad; 
It   is   spring   in    Hellas   now. 


118 


XCVII 


WHEN   the  early   soft  spring  wind  comes 
blowing 
Over   Rhodes  and  Samos  and    Miletus, 
From  the  seven   mouths  of   Nile  to   Lesbos, 
Freighted  with   sea-odours  and  gold  sunshine, 

WHAT   news   spreads  among  the  island 
people 
In  the  market-place  of   Mitylene, 
Lending  that  unwonted  stir  of   gladness 
To  the  busy  streets  and  thronging  doorways? 

IS   it  word  from   Ninus  or  Arbela, 
Babylon  the  great,   or   Northern  Imbros? 
Have  the  laden  galleons  been   sighted 
Stoutly  labouring  up  the  sea  from   Tyre? 


119 


NAY,   't  is  older  news  that  foreign   sailor 
With   the  cheek  of  sea-tan  stops  to  prattle 
To  the  youn^  fi^-seller  with   her  basket 
And  the   breasts  that  bud  beneath   her  tunic. 

AND    I   hear   it   in  the   rustling  tree-tops. 
L    All   this  passionate  bright  tender  body 
Quivers  like  a  leaf  the  wind  has   shaken, 
Now  love  wanders  through   the  aisles   of 
springtime. 


120 


I 


XCVIII 


am  more  tremulous  than   shaken  reeds, 

And   love  has  made   me  like  the  river  water. 


T 


HY  voice  is  as  the  hill  wind  over  me, 
And  all  my  chan^in^  heart  ^ives  heed,  my 
lover. 


BEFORE  thy  least   lost  murmur   I   must 
sigh, 
Or  gladden   with   thee  as  the  sun-path   glitters. 


121 


XCIX 

OVER  the  wheat  field, 
Over  the  hill-crest, 
Swoops  and  is  ^one 
The  beat  of  a  wild  wing. 
Brushing  the   pine-tops, 
Bending  the  poppies. 
Hurrying   Northward 
With   golden   summer. 

WHAT   premonition, 
O   purple  swallow. 
Told  thee  the  happy 
Hour  of  migration? 
Hark!      On   the  threshold 
(Hush,   flurried  heart  in   me!). 
Was  there  a  footfall? 
Did   no   one   enter? 


122 


SOON   will  a  shepherd 
In   ru^^ed   Dacia, 
Folding  his  gentle 
Ewes  in  the  twilight, 
Lifting  a  level 
Gaze  from  the  sheepfold, 
Say  to  his  fellow, 
*^  Lo,   it  is   springtime/' 

THIS  very  hour 
In   Mitylene, 
Will  not  a  young  girl 
Say  to  her  lover, 
Lifting  her  moon-white 
Arms  to  enlace  him, 
Ere  the  glad  sigh   comes, 
*'  Lo,  it  is  lovetime!  " 


123 


ONCE   more  the  rain   on   the  mountain, 
Once  more  the  wind   in   the  valley, 
With    the   soft   odours   of   springtime 
And  the  lon^  breath   of  remembrance, 
O   Lityerses! 

WARM    is   the   sun   in   the   city. 
On   the   street   corners  with   laughter 
Traffic  the  flower-girls.      Beauty 
Blossoms  once  more  for  thy  pleasure 

In   many  places. 

GENTLIER  now  falls  the  twilight. 
With    the   slim   moon    in    the   pear-trees; 
And  the  green   frogs   in  the  meadows 
Blow  on   shrill   pipes  to  awaken 
Thee,    Lityerses. 


124 


GLADLIER  now  crimson  morning 
Flushes  fair-built   Mitylene, — 
Portico,  temple,   and  column, — 
Where  the  youn^  garlanded  women 
Praise  thee  with   singing. 

AH,  but  what  burden  of  sorrow 
L    Tinges  their  slow  stately  chorus. 
Though   spring  revisits  the  glad  earth? 
Wilt  thou  not  wake  to  their  summons, 
O   Lityerses? 

SHALL  they  then  never  behold  thee,- 
Nevermore  see  thee  returning 
Down  the  blue  cleft  of  the  mountains. 
Nor  in  the  purple  of  evening 
Welcome  thy  coming? 


125 


NEVERMORE   answer   thy   flowing 
Youth   with   their  ardour,   nor   cherish 
With    lovely   longing  thy   spirit, 
Nor  with   soft  laughter  beguile  thee, 
O   Lityerses  ? 

HEEDLESS,   assuaged,   art  thou   sleeping 
Where  the  spring  sun   cannot  find  thee. 
Nor  the  wind  waken,  nor  woodlands 
Bloom  for  thy   innocent  rapture 
Through  golden  hours? 

HAST   thou   no   passion   nor   pity 
For  thy  deserted  companions? 
Never  again  will  thy  beauty 
Quell   their  desire   nor   rekindle, 
O    Lityerses? 


126 


NAY,   but  in  vain  their  clear  voices 
Call  thee.      Thy  sensitive  beauty 
Is  become  part  of  the  fleeting 
Loveliness,   merged  in  the  pathos 
Of  all  things  mortal. 

IN   the  faint  fragrance  of  flowers, 
On  the  sweet  draft  of  the   sea-wind, 
Linger  strange  hints  now  that  loosen 
Tears  for  thy  gay  gentle  spirit, 
O   Lityerses ! 


127 


A  T  OZV  the  hundred  songs  are  made^ 
J.    y      /Ind  the  pause  comes.      Loving  Heart, 
There  must  he  an  end  to  summer, 
/Ind  the  flute  be  laid  aside, 

ON  a  day  the  frost  will  come. 
Walking  through   the  autumn  world, 
Hushing  all  the  brave  endeavour 
Of  the  crickets  in  the  grass, 

ON  a  day   {Oh,  far  from  now!) 
Earth  will  hear  this  voice  no  more; 
For  it  shall  be  with   thy  lover 
Jls  with   Linus  long  ago* 

^^LL   the  happy  songs  he  wrought 
J    JL     From  remembrance  soon   must  fade, 
Jls   the  wash    of  silver  moonlight 
From   a  purple-dark   ravine. 


128 


F^/IIL  as  dew  upon  the  grass 
Or  the  spindrift  of  the  sea^ 
Out  of  nothing  they  were  fashioned 
And  to  nothing  must  return, 

T^T-^^f   ^"^  something  of  thy  love^ 

-/    V      ^assion^   tenderness^   and  joy^ 
Some  strange  magic  of  thy  beauty^ 
Some  sweet  pathos  of  thy  tears, 

MUST  imperishahly  cling 
To  the  cadence  of  the  words. 
Like  a  spell  of  lost  enchantments 
Laid  upon  the  hearts  of  men, 

CT  f)   \ILT>  and  fleeting  as  the  notes 
v.J^X    'Blown  upon  a  woodland  pipe, 
They  must  haunt  the  earth  with  gladness 
And  a   tinge  of  old  regret. 


129 


FO^  the  transport  in  their  rhythm 
Was  the  throb  of  thy  desire^ 
/ind  thy  lyric  moods  shall  quicken 
Souls  of  lovers  yet  unborn. 

CT^  /)   \HBN  the  golden  days  arrive^ 
Vx'^/    ZVith  the  swallow  at  the  eaves^ 
/Ind  the  first  sob  of  the  south  wind 
Sighing  at  the  latch  with  spring, 

T  ONG  hereafter  shall  thy  name 
X.^    'Be  recalled  through  foreign   lands, 
/ind  thou  be  a  part  of  sorrow 
When  the  Linus  songs  are  sung. 


130 


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